The Summer I Learned to Bear It

Working as a lifeguard at the community pool was supposed to be chill — easy money and proximity to Jessica Martinez, who wore her bikini like she owned the water.

Then the stray dog showed up.

He was this chocolate-colored mutt with one ear that flopped and determination in his eyes like he was on a mission. I named him Bear because the ridiculousness matched my life.

I'd sneak him hot dogs from the concession stand when the manager wasn't looking. The padel tournament was my dad's idea — something we could do together, he said, like that would fix the silent treatment I'd been giving him since Mom moved out. I didn't even know what padel was (some tennis-pickleball hybrid?), but I agreed because I needed a reason to leave the house.

So there I was: guarding the pool by day, feeding Bear by night, and getting schooled in a sport I didn't care about by a dad I wasn't ready to forgive.

Then Jessica saw me feeding Bear behind the pool shed.

"You're literally my favorite person," she said, dropping down beside me. "He looks like he's been through it."

"His name's Bear," I said, and my voice didn't crack. "He showed up Monday and hasn't left."

She scratched behind his good ear and Bear leaned into her touch like he'd been waiting for this his entire life.

"My dad's making me do this padel tournament with him," I said, surprising myself. "Like that's gonna fix our divorce vibe."

Jessica looked at me with those eyes that made everything feel important. "You know what's wild? My parents did that same thing with me and ice skating. Bear it until something breaks."

The tournament was a disaster. I served the ball into the net three times. But halfway through, I saw Jessica in the stands, and she mouthed "BEAR IT" with her hands like claws, and I actually laughed.

After, my dad bought me a slushie and we sat in silence that wasn't terrible. "Your mom would've been proud," he said.

"Yeah," I said, and I meant it.

Bear met me at the pool after my shift like always. Jessica was there too, sitting on the grass with Bear's head in her lap.

"He waited for you," she said. "Cool if I join?"

"Please."

So we sat there — me, Jessica, and a dog named Bear — watching the pool water turn gold in the sunset. My dad texted: "Same time next week?" and I typed back: "Sure."

I wasn't fixed. But Bear was warm against my leg and Jessica's shoulder touched mine, and for the first time all summer, I could breathe.

I could bear it.

Actually, I could do more than bear it.

The summer was ending. But everything else was just beginning.